Sometimes, words aren’t enough. She realizes this in his wan smile before he drains his glass to give her a perfunctory nod, grunting at the bitterness burning down his throat. He says nothing as idle conversations stray by their table and that’s when her words echo back to her. Like soulless drips collecting, rippling out into a void. And there’s nothing else to say because he’s heard it all before. So what do you do when words are all you have to give, even in their superfluity? She calls his name softly and reaches across the table, squeezing his hand.
Her seduction of him was never intentional. She hadn’t caught his attention with flirtatious quips or a provocative gait. It was in the breathy notes of her laughter. The citrus of her perfume that sauntered – unbidden – over his senses. In all her natural reactions that drew him to ask her name.
SammiCox Weekend Writing Prompt Happy Sunday everyone! So many weekend writing prompts passed me by, but I tried my best to make it for another one again. I hope you’re all doing well and as I settle back into a writing schedule, I hope to talk with you all once again. Until then!
It lay in the middle of the street. Its silhouette like remains left behind after the bodies had been cleared away. As the smoke and panic receded on the midnight billows, children darted from the shadows to circle the curious object: a battered portmanteau. And a voice came from within, soft and ethereal, promising treasures if they reached inside…
Writing is sort of a loveless commitment. Unpredictable too. I haven’t been able to write much of anything, though I pushed myself and kept trying. Nothing sounded right and it frustrated me. I’m not sure about this one either, but I decided to just post and get the ball rolling once more. Have you all been well? I want to talk more with you all as I get back into practice.
Thanks to sammiscribbles for another great prompt, that I found in time.
We’ve tumbled right along into a new weekend. Another State of emergency is about to be implemented where I live, and I’m starting to wish i could just work from home.
Besides that, I enjoy weekends because I look forward to SammiCox’s writing prompts. This weekend was quite challenging; it’s really hard to write a story/creative piece in only 19 words. For me, at least. I stared at the first two lines of my entry for over an hour before I could piece it into something coherent — I hope.
Please enjoy your Saturday and have an awesome weekend 💕
Her junk email overflows in silent choruses of ‘Where are you’s’ and ‘We miss you’s’. She clicks through them all, feeling an odd sense of comfort. It’s all coding, she knows. A programmed sincerity from her neglected accounts that isn’t at all rooted in human concern. But it’s more than she’s ever gotten from the people she does know – friends and family, she could count on three fingers. Not that she blames them for their apathy. Because she makes it easy to forget; existing on the fringes of their conscious, legs dangling the deep gully where thoughtless remembrances tumble away. Which suits her just fine; this sense of anonymity that goes undisturbed for as long as she wants.
Or maybe it is her fault, having burrowed so deep in solitude. But it’d be nice, she admitted to the attentive walls — always eager to listen to her open musings — if they checked on her with a little enthusiasm and perhaps even a smidge of curiosity.
There is an odd moment I recall every now and then. A memory that revisits in the hour when the moon untangles her chiffon veil, shadows pooling at her feet. Tonight, it finds me in my failed search for sheep to indulge a silly bedtime routine.
I met a girl whose heart lived in a basket, woven of twine with lilies and thorns; rusted in ruby hues from her bleeding palm. I couldn’t understand how she was alive while her heart throbbed outside of her. And as if she could hear my thoughts, her lips twisted in a peculiar smile and with a silken voice, she told me things weren’t always as they seemed. Almost like a cryptic taunt, mocking my curiosity.
But what perplexes me even more is that I can still hear the jaunty staccato of her heartbeat echoed within my own, as if she is more than just a dream stepping beyond the ivory threshold of the surreal to find me.
Amy squinted at the mirror, fingers pressed to its cold surface framed in mahogany. Her expression twisted, confused at the empty space that should’ve shown her reflection. Everything else in her bedroom had one, so where was hers? She yelled out as her mother entered her room, gasping when she saw herself…in bed?
But…that’s absurd! I’m standing right here!
I’m a little sad since I broke my writing streak (unintentionally). However, SammiCox’s Weekend Writing Prompts still help me to stay on track.
I rewrote this entry a number of times, but I think this was the best way I could end it for a story in 61 words. I hope you’re all doing well! ✨